


Wolves

by propsandmayhems



Category: Endeavour (TV)
Genre: F/M, I DON'T EVEN SHIP THEM, I rewatched Icarus and this wrote itself, I'm so sorry, but it had to be written
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-26
Updated: 2019-02-26
Packaged: 2019-11-06 05:39:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 647
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17933882
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/propsandmayhems/pseuds/propsandmayhems
Summary: Morse raised his eyes from the records he was shuffling through in an attempt to find something relatively decent, and looked at the young blonde who was perched on the awfully-patterned sofa, painting her toenails a colour that resembled freshly spilt blood.Disclaimer: I do not own the characters or the story of Endeavour, those rights go to the writers and studios that produce the show... please don't come for me itv





	Wolves

**Author's Note:**

> Small changes to the dialogue from that one Morse and Trewlove scene from Icarus. Enjoy!

“They say that when you die, your whole life flashes before your eyes. Do you think that's true?”

Morse raised his eyes from the records he was shuffling through in an attempt to find something relatively decent, and looked at the young blonde who was perched on the awfully-patterned sofa, painting her toenails a colour that resembled freshly spilt blood. 

“That’s a pretty grim topic for somebody painting their toenails.”

Morse regretted the words as soon as they left his lips. It was rare, but sometimes he spoke without thinking. He could feel her demeanor shift as soon as he finished his sentence. He never meant to insult her, she was an excellent officer and during this case was proving to be a better investigator than half of the detectives in Oxfordshire. 

She narrowed her eyes at him, “What are girls supposed to talk about, Morse? Ponies? Kittens? Boys?”

Taking an opportunity to possibly pull himself out of the hole he dug himself, Morse latched on to one of her listed topics, “I saw your boy this afternoon.”

“Oh lord,” She rolled her eyes, forehead coming to rest on her palm. “I told him not to get too serious.”

“I thought you liked him” 

“It’s 1968, Morse, I like a lot of things.” She flicked her eyes up at him, and then back down to her toes to add another stroke of paint to one of the smaller ones. “And besides, with the station closing down, I've put in for a transfer,” another stroke of paint, “to the Yard.”

“Oh?” Morse considered his further reply momentarily before continuing, “well, I’ll miss you. And I’m sure he will too.”

She glanced at him through her lashes, “I’m young, I have to put career first now, haven’t I?”

Morse knew her question wasn’t open to an answer. She may be young, but she was determined. Sometimes it felt as though she had herself more figured out than he did. He hesitated for a moment on the words that came to mind, but ended up letting them slip. Averting his gaze, he spoke his mind, “well, a career won’t hold you at three in the morning when the wolves come circling.”

She blinked, a small smile playing across her rose-tinted lips, “do they come circling, Morse?” 

He couldn’t take sitting there, with her dark eyes staring nearly into his soul, and decided to attempt an escape. He feigned a laugh and downed the rest of his drink, “I think I should make my bath.”

He pushed himself up and made his way toward the door that led to the upstairs stair. Before he could make it there, he felt warm fingers circling his wrist, pulling him back. He turned to look at the woman who he so rarely seen out of uniform and took a second to take her in - she was truly gorgeous; all soft edges and golden curls. But her eyes was what struck him the most - from the first second he met her, he was taken aback by how old and wise her dark eyes looked amongst her young, pale face. It was those same eyes that were staring him down now as she spoke, fingers still circling his wrist, “you didn’t answer my question, Morse.”

He took a chance, and let his hand come up to slowly trace her cheek with the back of his pointer finger, “let me put it this way, if I found someone, then all of this wouldn’t matter at all.” 

They stood like that for a moment longer than they should’ve, in the middle of a dead man’s sitting room, letting their breathing intertwine. She, being the ever level-headed one, was the first to pull away, “it’s getting late, you should get on with that bath if you want the tub to be dry before you have to head to sleep.”

**Author's Note:**

> Seriously I think something like possessed my body and ghostwrote this. I rewatched Icarus the other day and this demanded to be written. I never even thought of them as anything other than cop pals until this demanded to be written! Anyways, I hope you enjoyed :) As always, please kudos and comment if you did!


End file.
